Kite (Soho Theatre)

It can feel impossible to talk about grief. So the fact that Kite tells the story of a young girl mourning for her mother entirely without words seems fitting. Part of the London International Mime Festival, this short, sweet piece proves you can convey much without speaking at all – but despite pulling at the heart strings like they're, well, kite strings, it never really moves.

The girl leaves her seaside home for her grandmother's house in London; watching over her are two figures, identically dressed in double-denim and overcoats, who shake their heads at her sorrow – and her stroppy behaviour. Grandma is heartsore too, but at her wits end trying to get the girl to even eat a meal; she's wary and skittish as a frightened animal.

These two watching figures – invisible to the girl and gran – seem to be benevolent spirits of… the wind. They manipulate scarves and coats, make them flutter; when the girl finds a kite, they make it dance and play enticingly with her.

The girl is soon sailing on its tails, up and over London – the show dipping between real actors and dinky puppets from here on in – but of course, grandma is worried. I don't think it will surprise anyone if I reveal that their quest across the city to find each other becomes an emotional as well as literal journey. The wind figures nod to each other; their work here is done.

Kite is a tender story, and there are moments of real joy in director/designer Rachel Canning's production – when the kite first takes flight, full of life and personality, or when grandma hears the peeling bells of St Pauls. Its set is smart: swirling greenhouse-like structures manage to be one moment a skeleton house, a train, the Underground, and the next moment spun round into a realistic kitchen. There's a neat recreation of the London skyline too: a light-up umbrella becomes the London Eye, a mantelpiece clock turns into Big Ben.

A lively soundtrack – played a little too loud, actually – helps things along; Isobel Waller-Bridge's composition is heavy on expressive, fluttering flute, which has a downright synaesthetic quality, matching the movements of the kite perfectly.

The actors' movement, however, isn't always crisp enough to effectively whisk you away; it can be murky and unfocused. And while it makes sense to always be able to see the wind creatures – they are manipulating the action in more ways than one – it does mean you never experience the magic moment when a puppet handler seems to disappear. When the miniature girl flies over the city, it should prompt coos, yet it doesn't really take off. The airy beings' constant fidgeting with the other actors' coats, making them flap about, in the wind, is also a trick too heavy-handedly repeated.

Kite has charm, but it's gently touching rather than blow-you-over emotional; billed as being for ages seven and up, I don't think there's much in it to trouble little ones. Running at under an hour, it's a light, slight thing, about as substantial as the gusts of wind they're so bent on evoking.

Kite runs at Soho Theatre as part of LIMF until 6 February, then tours till 9 April.